


Lost Times

by badgerpride89



Series: Five for Fighting [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Relationship, That's it, before death and war and famine and pestilence really got going, the horsemen being creepy kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerpride89/pseuds/badgerpride89
Summary: The thing is, what neither of them realizes until some six months after the whole garden debacle, is that their actions have far greater consequences than they knew. Crawly had given humanity Knowledge, Aziraphale had given them Will. And with these two forces, well, naturally, others follow.





	Lost Times

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks/groans to Kedreeva and her Death's Daddy tumblr anons for inspiring this piece.

The thing is, what neither of them realizes until some six months after the whole garden debacle, is that their actions have far greater consequences than they knew. Crawly had given humanity Knowledge, Aziraphale had given them Will. And with these two forces, well, naturally, others follow. 

“Oh thank Somebody,” Crawly says in a rush as he dashes towards that angel. The angel isn’t alone and while that normally would be cause for concern, he is not accompanied by another of his kind but instead a pale, disconcerting-looking little being which might or might not be a mini-Eve. Indeed, it’s the being’s presence that sends a surge of relief through Crawly, as he has been accompanied by a disconcerting little being of his own since they parted. True, his has giant wings, is as black as the space between stars, and has a skull for a face so it’s not entirely the same thing. But Aziraphale had been willing to help him once and that was when they had nothing in common. Besides, he has heavenly contacts, surely one of them knows what the blazes is going on. 

Aziraphale blinks at him, at his little shadow, and sighs in relief. “You too, then?” he asks, hope dancing in his eyes.

He’s just as clueless as Crawly is. Dammit. “Yeah. Yeah, come here, let me introduce you,” he calls back to the little shadow, who winds himself around one of Crawly’s still unsteady legs. Aziraphale’s little one stares at Crawly’s then darts towards him and holds out a hand. It’s at this moment that Crawly realizes her hair is bright red, nearly his shade.

“I like you,” Aziraphale’s tells Crawly’s, a smile slashing her mouth. Crawly can’t decide whether it’s a good expression or a bad one. “Camael, but I’m thinking of changing it.”

**Azrael** , Crawly’s…well, doesn’t say, because he doesn’t have a mouth, but the idea is close enough, as he extends a skeletal hand and takes Camael’s.

Aziraphale seems to be having a similarly indecisive moment, if the way he can’t take his eyes off of Azrael is any indication.

“There are fish in the river,” Camael continues, “I like stabbing them. Would you like to stab them with me?”

**Why?**

“Because it’s fun,” she whispers, red ringing her gold irises.

 **Okay, then.** Azrael nods then steps out of Crawly’s shadow and lets Camael lead him over the nearest dune towards the waiting river.

“Be sure to give the fish to the humans,” Aziraphale calls after her, his only response a pair of raised fingers from her free hand.

He sighs as the little ones disappear from view. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her,” he mutters, more to himself than to Crawly.

Crawly gapes at him. “What the blazes is going on? Because, I don’t know about you but-”

“Azrael?” Aziraphale asks, expression torn between amused and concerned.

Crawly rolls his eyes. Because of course that’s the important part here. And what can he say, really? That the little one, the shadow, had rejected all other attempts at naming him, complete with sulking and the silent treatment? That Crawly, in a desperate attempt to have something to call him besides shadow, threw out a mangled version of the angel’s name only for the little one to take to it like a duck to water? That the little one likes hearing their story over and over again? No way on Earth is he admitting to that.

“Oh, yes, I was just traipsing through life when this brand new thing pounced me, attached itself to my leg, and followed me for months. Of course my first thought was naming it after you,” he sneers.

Aziraphale takes his point with a blush and mercifully cuts Crawly off. “I beg your pardon.”

Crawly makes a face at him.

“So we really did create them. What do you suppose they’re for?”

“How the Heaven should I know? You’re the one with the Ineffable Plan.”

“Do the humans see the boy?” Aziraphale asks, determined to ignore Crawly’s mocking.

“Is that what he is?”

“Young humans are called boys or girls depending on their place in society,” Aziraphale explains primly, “and given that beings such as ourselves do not have young in the traditional sense, their words are as good as any.”

”Where’d you learn that?”

“There’s a human settlement a few miles from here.”

“Already?”

“They do move fast.”

“Not been around any humans since,” Crawly admits. “I don’t think they’d see him, though, not entirely. They don’t see your wings, do they?”

“They do not.”

“There you go. Might just see a small human.”

“I do hope so. The humans frequent that river.”

“And you let them go off alone?” Crawly does not yelp but instead voices his question at a very high pitch.

“She can take care of them,” Aziraphale says with a shudder. “She’s quite good with violence.”

“How’d you know?”

“Just trust me on that.”

What Aziraphale means is that when he and Camael had arrived at the human settlement, they were met with more than a little suspicion. These humans, having never seen a child that age before -all of their children were six months old exactly or had yet to be born, had hurled a few insults, and some pottery, their way before the girl had yelled and thrown pots back at them. Her victims hadn’t died but they did fall into a coma which Aziraphale had promptly and helpfully healed. The humans had given the pair a wide berth but hadn’t tried anything since. 

“Spirited thing,” Crawly says when Aziraphale finishes his story.

“And yours?”

Crawly shrugs. “He likes watching. And listening. Thinks a lot. Finds venomous creatures fascinating.”

This is because the being known as Azrael had existed long before the garden, just not in this form and not with his current ability to think, ponder, and experience. But Crawly doesn’t quite realize that yet.

“So what do we do?” he asks the angel, hoping he’s got an idea.

Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose we do as humans do. Raise them until they are grown then let them make their way in the world.”

“And if they’re like me?” The words leave him before Crawly can think them through and realize what he’s saying. He turns away from the angel. Silence reigns for a long moment.

“Then I will have my hands full, thwarting three of you,” he finally replies. Crawly chances a glance but the angel’s looking away too. Aziraphale clears his throat. “But I don’t think they will be. Like you, I mean. Or me. They don’t feel like it, anyway, they feel more…”

“Human,” Crawly agrees with a nod. Azrael reminds him of Eve, quiet and thinking and pondering. What little he’s seen of Camael paints her in Adam’s light, action and impulse and burning desire. The little ones aren’t human but they are closer than the angel and demon ever can be.

A shriek fills the silence.

“Father!” 

Aziraphale charges towards the river in a flash, simultaneously running and gliding. Crawly stays hot on his heels. Whatever’s bad enough to get that girl calling, Azrael’s right in the middle.

At the top of the dune, he takes stock, even as Aziraphale continues down to the river. First, there are half a dozen humans. Three women are cowering in the river, their babies crying on their backs. Three men, presumably guarding the herd of cattle stamping and drinking several meters downstream, are wading up towards the distressed women. And there, at the river’s banks, are their little ones. Camael is shrieking and pointing at something within the herd while Azrael lurches back onto the bank, _something_ clinging to his back and wings. 

Aziraphale is already darting towards the herd so Crawly takes advantage of the chaos. He snaps his fingers and holds time, grunting and sweating with the effort. The mortals freeze. Aziraphale scoops a small, wretched looking being from underneath the legs of several startled cattle. Crawly rushes to the bank and pulls the reed-thin, fragile-looking, brown child off Azrael’s wings. The child kicks and fights him until Azrael quells their resistance with a dark look.

“I do believe we ought to take our leave,” Aziraphale calls to them, the tiny child being on his hip and reaching back for the cattle.

“Ya think?” Crawly snaps as he hauls his catch back the way they came, Azrael hot on his heels. Camael makes a beeline for Aziraphale instead of heading straight towards the dunes. 

For his part, Aziraphale waves his free hand and says, “You can release them now. They’ll think it a dream.”

“Not taking that chance,” Crawly calls back as the dark-skinned being finds their footing and decides they’d rather walk than be dragged. Crawly holds their wrist like a vise anyway.

“How long can you hold them?” Aziraphale asks as they meet. The child on his hips has nasty looking pox and sore scars across their body and deep bags under their eyes. At their whimper, Aziraphale miracles them a brown robe, does the same for the child in Crawly’s grip, the better to ignore all the bones Crawly can count under their skin.

“Long enough,” he says with effort.

“If we head north, we should be able to stay out of their reach,” Aziraphale says, “Granted, finding a new settlement might be problematic but-”

“My things, I want my things!” Camael snarls and stomps her foot, refuses to take another step. “We can’t leave them! They’re mine!”

Crawly wants to growl at her but with keeping the humans frozen, his focus is rather occupied.

“We can and we will,” Aziraphale orders, patience and experience leeching into his tone. “I will make you new things once we are certain we are safe.”

“No, they’re mine, I want them,” she yells and kicks his shin.

 **Enough,** Azrael says, projecting a glare even though he lacks eyebrows and eyelids, **or I won’t play with you anymore.**

Camael scowls and crosses her arms but starts walking again. Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. They walk for several miles before Crawly drops the freeze, heaving and stumbling as he does. Aziraphale places the pale child on the ground and reaches towards Crawly before abruptly aborting the movement.

“Do you, um, that is…”

Crawly shakes his head. “Let’s just keep moving.” He’ll worry about feeling the strain later.

Aziraphale, to his credit, purses his lip and frowns. “You could shift to a snake,” he says slowly, “You wouldn’t be that heavy.”

Crawly is about to refuse when Aziraphale says, “I would feel more comfortable if you recovered quickly. Treacherous area, this, even without those humans.”

Crawly sighs but shifts, conceding the point. The sand burns his sensitive underbelly for the brief seconds between shifting and Aziraphale picking him up. He winds his tail around the angel’s waist and settles his head on one shoulder, tongue tasting the air. Beyond the angel’s love, Azrael’s bones, and the new scents of the new little ones, he finds nothing out of sorts. Certainly no humans, thank somebody. Speaking of.

“What were you lot doing anyway?” he calls to the kids staring them down with yellow eyes.

“He was drowning,” Camael says, shoving the brown-skinned child.

“Was not,” the boy retorts, “Was looking at the leeches.”

“You were under the water and not moving forever,” the girl snaps. “You were freaking everybody out so Azrael tried to grab you and you pulled him under.”

“You did what?” Crawly hisses.

**I was fine. He cannot hurt me.**

Even so, Crawly’s offended on Azrael’s behalf. “You can’t go round grabbing people like that, especially if they’re trying to help you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s impolite,” Aziraphale adds, “Instead, tell them you are fine. Most will leave you be.”

“Whatever.”

“And you, white one, what’s your story?” Crawly asks. The kid’s moving a little slower than the others but seems otherwise fine, her fragile act seemingly just that.

“I like cows,” she says, like it’s all the explanation she need give. “And chickens and sheep. But cows are the best.”

There is something in her tone that sends shivers down Crawly’s too long spine.

“Chickens are stupid,” the boy needles.

“No, they’re not. They’re fascinating.”

“They’re stupid.”

“I think they’re good for wringing necks,” Camael interrupts their bickering, “They make the best noises.”

The boy rolls his eyes while the girl gazes into the distance thoughtfully. “I suppose they can be good dead, too.”

The entire conversation is giving Crawly the willies, Aziraphale too if his shaking head is anything to go by.

“So you decided to look at a whole herd of cows up close then?” he asks the girl.

“Oh, yes. I wanted to look at their mouths but they wouldn’t let me. That’s why they were cross.”

“Next time, ask the herdsmen for permission. They know their animals and can keep them calm for you,” Aziraphale offers.

“If you say so,” the girl replies with a shrug.

“Where are we going?” Camael asks.

“We’ll know when we get there,” Crawly says.

“That means you don’t know anything,” the boy says sagely then tilts his head and sniffs. “Nothing out here for miles and miles. I think there’s humans that away but they’re really far.” He points in the direction Aziraphale is already heading.

“How far, do you think?” the angel asks curiously.

“Thrice as far as we’ve traveled so far.”

“You have a good sense of things,” Aziraphale compliments as the kids go back to their strange conversations.

When night falls and Crawly can’t take any more of the strange bickering behind them, he shifts back into man-form and starts talking about the stars above them. The little ones are distracted for long hours, Azrael especially, as Crawly tells story after story of their creation, points out all the different constellations and different names for each thing in the sky. They run out of night long before he runs out of words, of course. 

They come across a caravan near noon. Aziraphale apparently knows the leader as he steps inside the man’s tent to converse with him. Crawly’s left to keep Camael and the boy from running off, the girl having decided that Azrael is the new most fascinating thing she’s seen and staying close to him.

When they exit, Aziraphale gestures at them to follow him, which they do, into a nearby, empty tent. He miracles a few things, bed rolls, blankets, rugs, cushions, and a few items Crawly doesn’t recognize but Camael does. She begins playing a rather violent game with them, dragging the others into a spirited fight between them.

“Omar has allowed us to remain with the caravan,” Aziraphale says lowly, “provided, of course, that I navigate for them and the rest of us assist them.”

Crawly raises an eyebrow. “And when they notice…” he gestures at Azrael’s wings, Camael’s violent game, the boy’s twig-like arms, the girl’s scars, and his own slitted pupils.

“He knows it’s temporary, just until the next oasis,” Aziraphale replies, just as lowly. His breath tickles Crawly’s ear. “If you have a better idea, I’m all for it.”

Crawly doesn’t. They could hide in the desert, of course, it’s not like they need food, water, or shelter. But the desert does run out of things to do and Crawly is supposed to report back some new devilish work before too long. Can’t really do it away from humans. And while the little ones are not human, they are young, in a way Crawly and Aziraphale never have been. At least with humans, who do have young who grow and change, there’s less chance of them missing something obvious. And if Aziraphale knows and trusts this group, well, at least they have a little breathing room before their next flight.

“Yeah, all right,” Crawly finally says.

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale replies then hesitantly adds, “Omar believes you are my wife and they are our children. I did not correct him, should I?”

“If it makes it easier, who cares? They’re gonna need names, though,” he finishes, looking at the newcomers pointedly.

The boy will settle on Dumah, the girl on Kushiel. They will travel for a while, never remaining with one group for too long. They will cross Adam and Eve once more who, remembering the kindness bestowed upon them by the snake and the guardian, will insist on providing a home for the six, together with their two young sons. Dumah and Kushiel will bond over sheep, watch together when illness strikes the lead ram and Adam diligently, but fruitlessly, tries to save it. Camael and Cain will be thick as thieves, Azrael will hover over young Abel.

Life will be decent, for a while, as all things are. 

Things will end in tragedy two decades later, all of them scattered to the eight winds. They will meet again, of course, but will never be the same.

But there was a time, not a long one, when the four horsemen were young and protected by the godfathers of humanity. And, despite it all, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale can bring themselves to regret it.


End file.
